After forming an ice spear with both hands, the young yaksha lowered his stance, gripping the spear properly, tip angled down.
Morax nodded to himself.
Good posture. Proper leverage. Not bad at all.
A flash of cold light!
Followed by— numbness!
The yaksha thrust the spear hard into the golden barrier—
and instantly went stiff like a board, trembling.
Morax covered his face with one clawed hand.
The rebound numbed him, didn't it? Why did I expect anything else…?
Then—
"Hm?"
Cryo energy was gathering.
Morax snapped his eyes back open.
Inside the barrier, the yaksha was pouring elemental energy into the spear—unrestrained, continuous.
That's… a lot of energy.
Except—it wasn't the amount.
Morax quickly realized the truth.
Not enormous reserves.
Ridiculously fast recovery.
Elemental energy flooded into the boy's body endlessly, like a spring that could never be exhausted.
So that's why he hasn't collapsed yet.
While Morax focused on observing him, the sand around them began to stir—lifting without wind.
A crack formed along the ice spear. Cold air hissed outward.
Even if he had an abundance of elemental energy, his control was too immature. His "hand"—his shaping ability—was too small to hold that much power.
The yaksha noticed it too.
He stopped pouring energy into the spear and thrust forward.
The spear's structure became a channel—
a release valve for the raging Cryo power.
A beam of concentrated cryo energy burst from the spear's tip—
it clashed against the barrier, held for a heartbeat—
then pierced through, leaving a hole.
The yaksha stepped out of the breach with absolute satisfaction.
He met Morax's gaze.
Both froze.
Morax looked at the boy with rare approval.
He hadn't used much power in that barrier, but for a newborn to break through was… remarkable.
He was about to speak—to offer recruitment—
But the yaksha already formed another spear, stance set, eyes burning with resolve.
Battle-born. Battle-dying.
For yaksha, this instinct was carved into their bones.
Feeling the killing intent slice through the air like icy blades, Morax understood.
Still not done, are we?
He was about to move when he noticed the drifting sand thickening.
He finally remembered why he had come here in the first place—to check on an old friend.
But the moment he stepped forward, a brat splashed a face full of Cryo in his eyes.
Plans derailed.
Recognizing whose handiwork this was, Morax dropped the idea of thrashing the boy again.
But the yaksha wouldn't know that.
He lunged, leaping high toward Morax.
Seeing the dragon remain motionless, the yaksha assumed contempt.
His anger surged.
His body twisted like a tightened spring; the spear swept behind him, gathering a burst of cryo crystals at the tip—
then—
He swung.
The spear and cryo force blended into one.
Morax's eyes brightened again.
Anything he doesn't know, I can teach.
But talent like this—integrating what he learns without guidance—is rare.
Except—
A yaksha delivering a decisive strike without wearing his mask?
Is he looking down on me?
Even so, Morax did nothing.
Not because he couldn't block the attack.
Because—
There was no need.
You cannot strike what is not truly there.
The spear passed through Morax's body.
Shattering against the ground.
Ice fragments burst like frost fireworks.
The yaksha stared, eyes widening.
Through the floating shards, he saw sand swirling, blanketing the fallen fragments.
He turned sharply.
Had he really passed through the dragon?
The dragon's image was now frozen—
a hollow silhouette carved through its form, all the way to the ground.
"Pffft—!"
He spat sand from his mouth.
The illusion shattered, breaking apart into brown dust that spiraled upward, forming a slow, swirling sand vortex around him.
The yaksha extended his hand, letting the grains run through his fingers.
Using the world itself to form a mirage…
This level of mastery, just to toy with me?
Even newly born, as a war-born race, he understood enough—
If it were mist, he could rationalize it as elemental trickery.
But using sand to mimic a lifelike dragon illusion?
Only someone frighteningly skilled could weave a formation like this.
A soft, clear laugh echoed.
Not mocking.
Not arrogant.
Gentle—like earth that bears all things. Yet distant, impossible to locate.
The yaksha frowned.
A sound without direction—
another effect of the formation.
To break a yaksha's will through illusions?
How naive.
Cryo energy surged around him.
If subtlety couldn't break this, then he would shatter everything head-on.
If he couldn't break through—
he would die trying.
Beyond the swirling sand, beside a colossal dragon's real body, floated a woman.
Her hair was like fine white silk touched with a hint of grey—not dirty, but elegant with the passage of time.
A white flowing robe with pale pink accents; slender bracelet of beads; a hairpin holding a neat, graceful bun.
Her appearance was simple, even plain—
yet the overall presence was striking.
Beside Morax, she observed the yaksha calmly.
After watching for a moment, she spoke—gentle and unhurried:
"Enough. It seems this child truly doesn't understand how to wear his Yaksha mask."
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
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